


Shock

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Car Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Sex in a Car, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Drinking, a single gay slur, all crushed into roughly 7000 words, and a fuckton of Smiths lyrics, implied past suicidal thoughts, jsut thought id point it out, wow there are so many things wrong with this oh lord sry i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey so I don't know how to say this but I have been remembering writing this and I would like to say I'm really sorry. Recently I've come to realize exactly how insensitive the content of this is, and I haven't yet decided if I'm takig it down--for the sake of preserving part of my writing journey, I'm kind of leaning towards leaving it up. </p><p>
  <em>"And if a double-decker bus crashes into us; to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die"</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Smiths-- There is a Light That Never Goes Out</p><p> </p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock

“Come get me, please?”

Having extracted myself from the melancholic torpidity I’ve been slugging around my bedroom in for the majority of the past five hours, I’ve finally picked up the phone and pull on jeans as I wait for a response, knowing she’ll come even with no information as to why. Sandwiching the phone against my shoulder as a sigh comes over the line, it’s easy to tell what response I’ll be receiving. Whether it be by my own efficacy or just good karma, she’ll come. She’s used to this.

_“Are you alright?”_

“Yeah.” How stupid is it that I can’t say for sure if it’s the truth or not? Where has my life _gone_?

_“Give me five minutes.”_

There are approximately _eight_ minutes between her house and mine at the speed limit, but I’m barely out the window at four when headlights come shining through the bushes. It’s a short sprint from there across the meticulously-trimmed yard to the passenger seat of the Jag, and she seems to sink into the opposite door as I swing inside, shooting a wary glance at my front door.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t have been a better idea to meet at the corner?”

“They’re asleep.” Asleep or not, I still take care to shut the door quietly, sinking immediately into the leather as I tug the seatbelt across my chest and she accelerates away.

“Where to?”

“I couldn’t possibly care less.” I take my well-deserved turn to sigh, eyes drifting closed as I stuff my hands in the pockets of my thin sweater, acutely aware that we head towards the freeway as I head towards something akin to the astral plane.

Freeways can take a person as far as they need to go. And I’m needing to go far.

 

Extremely cold fingers poke their way into the cavern of my pocket, burrowing in the spaces between mine to squeeze my hand gently, and serving as a casual reminder as to why I’ve gotten myself into this position in the first place. My hand curls back around hers, even if it’s a rather forward move for her to be making, and would be surprising to me under normal circumstances. I take it without question. God knows I need it.

“What did they do this time?”

“I don’t want to think about that right now.” I shake my head and she sighs again, suddenly adopting that all-too-familiar aura of stubborn frustration, almost parentlike, or, at least, choleric, like a parent should be. Not someone I barely know suddenly deciding to espouse me in the effort to get me to face my real parents.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Kuvira, just tell me and get it over with.”

The dark shields all of her but the piercing eyes from me--which somehow manage to catch the light even in the pitch darkness, like a cat’s-- except for the occasional streetlight, which illuminates everything in yellow and shows her frowning, which I’d rather not see by choice in the first place. Doesn’t suit her.

“Can we go somewhere first?”

“I thought you said you didn’t care where we went.”

“I know.” I shift back even more, tunneling into my sweater and still clinging to her hand, cold metal pressing into into my palm at her ring finger. “I just want to get really drunk before I make myself say anything.”

“No one needs to see us together, and you know that.” The ticking of her turn signal fills my ears nonetheless, and a let myself be whipped to the side as she wheels around into the little gas station whose light I had spotted off the freeway.

 

“Stay here.” She reminds me for no apparent reason, fishing a card from the center console to stuff in her pocket, swinging out with an onslaught of cold breeze that cuts into my face in just the time it takes her to close the door again. I lift the neck of my sweater over my nose and watch the wind whip her hair into her face as she runs inside.

Roughly two minutes and one too flirtatious cashier later and I’m pulling myself up in the seat to take the six pack she hands me, slouching back down as we speed back onto the freeway.

 

She drives fast, and I like fast. No time to think when everything goes by in a blur, not to mention that the faster we go, the more distance we put between me and them. She even seems to have an idea where we’re heading by now, craning her neck to see signs in the distance. Even if I have no idea, I don’t say anything. I love the mystery. If I really try, it isn’t hard at all to imagine that she does this on purpose, like those cliche romance stories where it’s all surprises and don’t-open-your-eyes-until-I-say-so destinations. 

Cute, but not really my thing.

“Here.” I’m setting the six-pack down, one can secured in my sweater-paw, when she presses something cylindrical into my upturned palm, moonlight newly visible over the trees lighting up the satisfied expression on her face. I squint down, my thumb already familiarizing myself with the ridges the stacked tablets make under the foil.

“No way.”

“I found them.”

“I thought they were _discontinued_.”

“I guess there’s still some left out there.” 

She laughs, and suddenly a pack of Shock Tarts I didn’t know still existed has almost completely erased the bitter memories of a few hours ago.

I snap the top of my beer open and drain half of it, my other hand already breaking through the paper and knocking out one of the colored tablets as we turn off the main freeway once again, and I realize where she’s taking me.

Allowing my taste buds to be brutally assaulted by aptly-named candy, I stare out the passenger window at the strip of shoreline running alongside us now, absentmindedly wondering how it manages to stay so pristine and motionless as the water creeps lazily up the beach and recedes back, almost careless and content, paying no mind to the turbulence farther out, just to stay together for a few golden hours until the end of the night. 

Hopefully I can have the same here.

I hold up one of the bite-size _fucking heart attacks_ and she takes it blindly as we pull up onto a small overhang facing the ocean, allowing me a few seconds of devilish anticipation before she practically slams her forehead against the steering wheel with a sound acutely similar to what I could imagine a surprised kitten could make.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” I can’t help laughing as she changes gear and fixates me with a horrified expression.

“What is it that you are expecting when you hear the name _“Shock Tart”_?” I tease, pouring three more out into my hand and wrapping the rest up to shove back into my pocket for later. Don’t know if I’ll ever find these again, and I’m not too anxious to regret eating them all at once. Shock Tarts were my childhood, screw candy bars or anything else closely affiliated, you could give me one pack and you’d be my lord and savior. I loved them for the unpredictability, because even after the first time you try them and find yourself practically crying, they still never fail to make your mouth sting. They were supposedly discontinued only a year ago, and I was devastated. I never would have known the gas station tucked away on the freeway still had a few boxes.

“Not fucking _that_!” She snaps, still a good degree calmer, and reaches around me to twist a can from the pack. I don’t mention that she’s driving. If I’ve learned anything about Su at this point in our weird relationship, it’s that she’s no lightweight. And I’m barely feeling a buzz at this point, so no credit to this beer.

The car is perfectly heated as opposed to the torrent outside, and I pull off my sweater so I don’t bake right the fuck up, even though I’m wearing nothing but the stretched tank-top I fell asleep in earlier underneath as I slide up against the center console, close enough to lay my head on her shoulder.

 

It is possible that all of this, or at least a good amount, is brought upon by my need for someone to share this level of intimacy with. Admittedly, I crave the domesticity of laying my head on someone’s shoulder, the feeling of fingers playing with my hair. Being able to close my eyes and feel safety in someone else’s arms. 

Someone to care about me, unconditionally and eternally.

You may say the thing I want is just someone to be my mother, and that’s not wrong, I do. But there’s someone else. Someone to kiss me and mean it, whose waist I can wrap my arms around and hold against me for the end of time as we know it. I _need_ that, too.

I find both. And my finding both so easily is such an extraordinary thing to my naive mind that I find myself having overlooked essential details in my rejoicement.

Like, just maybe, your gymnastics coach being the only one to notice your teen angst flying off the charts and shadowing you for weeks to sherlock some kind of secret out of you doesn’t mean she’s attracted to you. Or the day you’re finally called into her office because she’s finally realized you’re parents are not being the world’s _greatest_ , somehow coaxing you into spilling everything you had kept secret for years, and handing you tissue after tissue until you can’t cry anymore does not in any way mean that she wants to fuck.

Spending the next few years living for each lunch period in her office, even when nothing’s happened, just for her moral support and constant reassurance, taking you to lunch once or twice when you hit senior year and were allowed to leave campus. Subjecting you to the endless albums of mixtapes crammed in her glove box-- it doesn’t mean she’s the damn incarnate of Gaia.

Old history.

It isn’t so much like that anymore, I mean, after certain lines have been crossed and a painfully accurate game of telephone brings me coming home to a damn thunderstorm, and I realize I just can’t keep playing this game anymore.

Shifting my way away from her just enough to press the button on the treasure (glove)box, I extract myself from the realm of thought to sift through the contents, until I find a certain leather-bound album, filled front to back with disks-- sharpie-tagged and scratched with use. 

I’m looking for something specific.

“Please tell me what happened.” She groans as I begin to flip through the book, settling back against her shoulder as her arms find their way around my waist, the classic shortcut to getting me to do what she wants and she knows it.

Stopping my thumb between the pages at the sight of blue print, I slip the disk out of its sleeve and into the slot in front of me, turning the volume low as the first strums of guitar trickle out of the speakers. I sigh deep enough for all the blood in my veins to come to a standstill, draining my second can of beer and balancing it on the dashboard, my “getting extremely drunk” plan abandoned as Morrisey rants on about coming to understand the suicidal. 

_He does it best._

Her face nudges into my shoulder, still adamantly pressuring me in silence.

“Fine.” She moves away, leaning back against the opposite door to face me completely, adopting the therapist pose. Arms crossed, one hand lifted to rest against her mouth, eyes wide, as if we’re discussing the probability of life on Mars as opposed to _what my parents did this time._

“They found out about you.” I blurt out all at once, no room to hold back, keeping a steady gaze at the windshield as I am not anticipating her reaction.

“What exactly did they find out?”

 

“They know about our…” _Relationship? Affair?_ “They know we’ve been seeing each other.”

 

_“What?!”_

There it is, panic, and I try to say something that might make her calm down, make her see it’s not as bad as she thinks, but it doesn’t come out, and I find myself flinching away as everything falls apart beneath me.

“And you just weren’t going to say anything?!”

“I was--I just didn’t want to do it close to--”

A long string of swears to seemingly everything under the sun comes from behind her hand, already twisting around to put the Jag into drive, and my panic surges.

“Wait--hold on--”

“For what?” She snaps back, shocking me into silence--knowing better than to do anything to increase her rage as her hand stops on the steering wheel.

“Let me just say this now, our situation being time-sensitive or not, ‘cause I can’t drive pissed off if you don’t want to be driven off a bridge.”

I don’t say anything about that being fine by me, keeping my mouth shut and staring ahead, maybe releasing a light breath in gratitude for the extra time, whether or not it means anything. Her hands close in fists around the wheel, bringing holes straight through the windshield with her glare, and inhales deeply.

“This isn’t just about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” She snaps back, not even looking, harsher than before, almost to the point I start crumbling. 

_No, don’t do that._

 

“This isn’t just my job I could potentially lose here if this gets out-- If your parents know, if _other people_ know about us, I could be branded as like, a pedophile and lose everything. Not to mention having you here _now_ , which is technically just kidnapping--” She stops, as if choked up suddenly, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as she recollects and starts again. “...and if your parents have realized you’re gone and have enough sense to know where you are, this could end _really fucking badly_. Do you realize that?”

That’s it. What I’ve really known all along; what happens if someone finds out. When someone finds out. But it’s not… _that_ bad. 

I open my mouth and her forehead slams against the wheel, seemingly forgotten about driving me back to the house.

“God this is all my fault.” 

It’s barely a whisper, not even directed at me, and it almost makes me feel guilty--as if I’m listening in on some internal debate I have no business knowing about.

“I shouldn’t have ever let this get past me--I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even be mad at you, it’s not like it’s your fault I can’t be the adult.”

 

_“Can’t be the adult”._

_It’s always that you can’t do things. Not exactly as if I succeed in that department, either._

_Is it really that we only do these things to build a facade of self-sustainability? Do we fit together like puzzle pieces, filling each other’s respectable holes to create two seemingly complete beings? At least under a good,concealing layer of paint?_

_Come on Kuvira._

_It’s your turn to step up anyways._

“My parents don’t care that I’ve been seeing you.” It’s a sad attempt, left unresponded until I go on, huddled in my corner and watching her shell flake away into nothing but a fragile membrane. “They care that I’ve been seeing a woman.”

Bright eyes flick back towards me, staring, confused, and I gulp in a metric ton of oxygen before continuing.

“Said they shouldn’t have expected anything better anyways, a rebel like me. Didn’t spare a second thought to the obvious age concept. Just didn’t like the idea of a _‘queer’_ in their house.” I have to laugh, pathetically, at that last sentence. _Sure, our kid could be predated upon, but as long as it isn’t gay_...Amazing.

“They were mad about _that_?” She lifts her head, fixates me with a disbelieving look.

“Nothing I hadn’t expected. A lot of talk about me going to hell, if I wasn’t already. Their being embarrassed to face the neighbors, heaven forbid they already could tell.” It’s terrible of me to use it, that being exactly what happened or not, to make her reconsider taking me back, but it’s always better than her actually taking me back.

“You know they’ll still make a big deal about it just to spite you.”

“It” being the fact that I’ve been involved with someone nearly twice my age, even though if that word got out, a bit more than just spite would be ignited and we both know it. I swallow back that notion, knowing how little it will do to dwell on worst case scenarios.

“I’ll be eighteen in a few months, they have no reason to even try when I’ll just be out of here by the time it got big.” My hand goes back to my pocket, pushes another piece of candy from the roll, and instead of chewing, let it sit on my tongue until tears come to my eyes and she breaks the silence with a single question. 

“”Where are you going to go?”

It’s a fair point, considering my plan before today was to stay at the house until I saved enough to go to college. As hard as it may seem, I would have time for a job, and could get away whenever I needed to. Maybe get myself a car. Things would be a lot easier that way

I can’t do much else but shrug, which annoys her for some reason. A click of the tongue, averted eyes, like she’s ever been any good at not speaking her mind, and it takes a solid five seconds before she does just that.

“I don’t like the idea of you staying there.”

 

A glance shows her exactly what I think of first. A long shot. But I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it a million times before...locked up a little sliver of hope for the past few months that I let go just now. Her eyes grow wide anyways, as if it was a direct request. 

“I’ll figure something out.” I say instead.

Her hands slide from the wheel, releasing everything back into neutral. Folds her arms to stare out ahead of us at the water.

“Do you think there would be any way for us to keep seeing each other?”

_“--Let me get what I want; lord knows it would be the first time.”_

She surprises me, as I find myself preparing for that “no” to sink deep in my chest, almost flinching away in anticipation. Not even looking back at me, a few words in a genuine, warm tone that could melt me if I wasn’t so damn intent on not spilling an ounce of emotion.

“There’ll be a way.”

 

“You think so?”

She leans over, hand sliding easily into my own once again, and says it so convincingly it stops me in my tracks.

“I’ll find some way to do it. Even if it means you staying at my own house.” I let my fingers close around hers, now nothing more than a reflex, but still electric, full of meaning even when I’m so used to it I would probably do it in my sleep.

“How would that work, you know, with your husband and everything?” I feel like it’s a question I am obligated to ask, but it doesn’t seem relevant in the least bit to her. In fact, trivial, judging by her expression.

“Oh, that? He wouldn’t care at all, I’m sure--It’s not like I’ve exactly been keeping this a secret. I doubt it would even surprise him if you jumped through the fucking window one of these days.”

It’s a little surprising, not that I’m new to her polygamous tendencies, or that I should be jumping immediately to the conclusion that it’s always been us against the world. It’s the idea of a third party, a long-term confidant I’m only just learning of. That throws me off.

“We’re going to make this work, okay?” She says again, shifting closer until she can pull me into her across the seats, and I let myself go limp in her arms, feeling the corner of my mouth pull up as her lips meet my skin just above the temple, the shoplifters beginning a revolution over the radio…

It’s a futile struggle to keep myself from smiling as she wraps her arms completely around me, leaving a kiss on my jawline, the side of my neck, then up to my forehead. Moving strands of my hair out of the way to get to the skin, until I can’t hold back and let myself be provoked into a fit of only slightly drunken giggles as she proceeds to assault the the side of my face with more, barely able to hold in a smile of her own long enough to do it.

“I’m sorry.” She pulls back suddenly, no doubt to come up with some form of remorse for losing it earlier over our secret getting out. There’s a second she stays still, and I take advantage of it anyways, turning against her and meeting her halfway at the lips and hold it, so when we do break away, the moment’s changed. I stare back, the slight light of surprise fading from her face, still gathering thoughts, and I swear I see the wheels turn as she struggles to regain composure.

We don’t kiss often.

See, it’s still a little weird, for both of us, to initiate something like that, something that can’t be passed off as friendly, or even motherly affection. We’re still telling ourselves that it’s okay to stray from that box.

“We’re alone, aren’t we?” Her, me, and Morrisey, that is. 

One of my hands come up to the back of her head, sliding through the uncut, just a bit scruffy hair at the base of her neck, and she requires no encouragement to pull me back for more, a kiss that ends deeper, her fingers finding holds in my hair where it falls from the braid I’ve kept it up in since this morning.  
We break off, breathing only slightly harder, heartbeats only one or two BPMs faster than before, my eyes fixated on her as she moves away once again, kissing the corner of my mouth, directly on the bridge of my nose--she really likes kissing me, everywhere she can. I love it, makes me feel like a god.

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but this isn’t working.” I nod down at the console between us, and she replies with a smirk.

Before I’ve even grasping our options, she’s reached around me to the passenger door, and pushes the recline on my seat all the way back until it whirrs in place. I lean back into it, as she pulls herself up over the wide centerpiece and back down against me in the warm, tight space of the seat. It’s a lot smoother and easier from there to press myself into her, hands finding her waist instead this time and kissing her again, harder, thumbs traveling lightly down to the hem of her shirt--bold, for me, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“How wrong is this--” She manages to get out after we break off from another kiss, eyes bright against the dusky darkness of the rest of the car.

“As wrong as we want it to be.”

I don’t want it to end. For her to realize how immoral our actions are and...try to be the “adult” again. Think I’m the innocent, naive, led astray child and push me away. Anything but that. I just need her trust, in me, that I’m aware of what I’m doing and in control of my actions completely and maturely. Even if that’s never exactly been my forte.

“I really want to keep going” My mouth presses against her neck, whispering a muffled reassurance against skin, “Can you trust me on that without questioning it?” There’s a slight relax in our posture, and I lean further into it, pressing my lips hard into her skin down to where the collar of her shirt covers anything past her collarbones, and stop.

“What’s wrong?” She hums, one hand still twisted in my hair, and strokes the back of my neck with her thumb--with what I could describe as concern, or whatever I like, I realize. It will apply to her touch, whatever it is. I pause, unfocusing for a second, waiting for her to say something about stopping since I’m _so obviously not ready._

“Do you need help?” Is what I get instead, not mocking or annoyed, a genuine question.

“Not yet.” I let my hands travel, slowly, regaining control, fingers coming around to the front of her shirt and when she doesn’t say anything, start unbuttoning it from the bottom up, music still drifting lazily through the speakers as my eyes graze over a too-perfect shadow of a six-pack as my fingers work her shirt apart and off her shoulders.

I’m watched, and I know it, as my hands magnetize to her sides, her skin so warm under my too-cold hands, and my fingers run down to the waistband of her jeans and over her hips, as I lean forward to press my mouth softly into her sternum. At the same time I become acutely aware of her hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, pulling me forward from the seat as her other hand goes behind me to tug my tank top back over my hair. And then there are hands, suddenly coming down flat against my bare skin, and sending shocks up through my entire torso just at the touch.

It’s become no surprise to me in the past few months that she goes bare-chested more often than not, and as my head lowers once more, it could only ever be a convenience, as I drag my mouth a little lower down the center of her chest. One of her hands moves back to my head as if to encourage me, but holds back, not as if she needs to. My mouth is already working, pressing fast kisses down her sternum, concentrating on every inch of her skin until I can’t move any farther, and somehow, in one complete motion, wrap my arms around her waist and flip us over so she’s pinned back against the seat under me.

Barely used to the change in position, her hands around my waist, suddenly pulling me forward so forcefully I have to brace my arm beside her just to retain balance, my hair falling out to hang wildly over my shoulders as I lower myself back down until every inch of our bodies is touching, legs slotted together and bare torsos pressed against one another. 

With so much more control and space to move, I don’t hesitate in letting my hands slide up her sides, using my mouth in ways I wouldn’t necessarily know from experience, but, strangely enough, naturally, as I let myself be guided by the curses whispered under her breath. Where to move, how much focus directed towards her nipples, stuff I can only understand through guidance.

 

I lead a trail down the length of her torso with my mouth, across toned muscle scattered with freckles, until I can’t go any farther, and come back to meet her in another deep, more aggressive kiss as my fingers hook around her waistband.

“Come on.” She groans into my mouth, back arching up against my hands, and I smile against her lips out of pure exhilaration. 

It’s when I’m pulling myself up, unzipping her jeans when she presses up into me, just enough to give me room to slide them down her legs, I’m suddenly left anxious, not helped at all in the composure department by the exposure of so much bare skin. This is where I stop, for a reason I can’t explain, when I’ve come so close, most of our clothes pushed aside into the driver’s seat, my face on fire. So close, so far away...I really should be the next Morrisey for depressing rants about the confusions of life.

 

 

“Come here.”

I look up and she pulls me closer, calmly, reaching around my back and unclasping my still-intact bra carefully, dropping it amongst the rest of our clothes thrown over the driver’s seat and passing a hand slowly, straight down the center of my chest.

Before I can even get out that I don’t really know what I’m doing, the zipper of my jeans is undone, and she’s pulled them halfway down my thighs. We share a glance that she only holds for a single purpose, hand creeping slowly up my thigh, then straight down, dipping under my waistband to poise two fingers at the origin of a slow pulse just between my legs.

 

Hand clenching against the seat under me, I press my lips together as her fingers concentrate over the knot and and roll softly against it, pressure light but somehow still enough that I don’t expect it to feel so intense, like a shock through my legs--

She smiles, as I struggle to hold myself together and she repeats the motion, building a feeling up inside me, smoke obscuring my thoughts as I release a heavy exhale. Jesus.

“Good.” I don’t know what exactly I’ve done so good, but suddenly a hand curls around my wrist, and guides my hand down to the same place on her. “ _You’re doing so well._ ” She hums, hand releasing my wrist slightly as I mimic the same rolling movement of her fingers, pulling her hips up into me just as I do.

Slipping back down against her, I steady myself against the seat, holding myself so that I just touch her, her fingers tensing up and eventually stopping as I speed up, extracting a short gasp as I adopt a complete lead and she takes her hand away to clench at the outside of my thigh.

“Am I even doing this right?”

“God yes.” I’m pulled even closer, now with chests and foreheads pressed against one another, a single command dictating my actions. 

“Don’t stop.”

She pulls my hair back behind my ears as I’m freeing both hands to strip her all the way down to the skin, moving my hand straight back to that place as I lean my forehead into the space above her shoulder. Fingernails come down to dig into my sides, my own fingers growing familiar with how to execute the motion against her, and apparently correctly when my skin begins to sting under her nails.

She releases me, only slightly in realization of what she’s been doing as I press down into her, bringing her hands down over my hips to steady us. Her voice is low, and seductive, if slightly breathless, catching me by surprise when her mouth does open, but so amazing in the way it hits my ears it almost stops me.

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Can I?” Her thighs come up to press against my ribcage, her way of telling me yes, bringing me forward against her for a brief, passionate kiss as her legs wrap more securely around me.

 

“You know I really do love you, ‘Vira.”

I glance up at her, eyes wide in surprise ony at the ease with which she admits it, until her hand comes back up to my face, and we’re kissing once again, passionately, as my own hand lowers, testing myself as I pull back just slightly to breathe before moving forward once more, my tongue slipping against hers slowly, unforced, a weird shroud of calmness surrounding us similar to the swirling mist outside. She gasps around the seal of our mouths a my hand slides lower, fingers searching for a second down before sliding deep into the opening just under the series of folds between her legs.

It’s foreign, oddly enough, how we move together, her hand twisted in my hair anchoring me down, sharing the same elated breath, whether or not mine are as labored as hers. It’s slow, controlled, as I follow her guidance at her cadence alone, fingers in constant motion against where I’m directed.

“I think I’ve severely underestimated you.” 

The words seep deep into my conscious, not to mention my ego, as I retain the same steady, thrusting rhythm inside her, maybe enjoying a bit too much the way her eyelids are fluttering closed, lips parting slightly to allow for heavy breathing. My fingers press against a spot inside her and her back arches up against the seat, hips rocking up against my hand with a soft gasp as I shift forwards to bring my lips against her chest. 

Drawing a line down from the dip between her collarbones to the end of her sternum, I let my free hand come up at the same time to her forehead, pushing back her hair where it comes down over her face. Her thighs press on either side of my ribcage, the occasional moan mixing in with her gasping until her hand tightening at the back of my neck signifies that I’ve come close to a peak. 

Reaching that point is sweet, to say the least. One one hand I feel like I’ve succeeded, and have an internal leap of joy as if my ability to cause an orgasm decides my worth. The other hand is looking down at her, hips still jerking up into mine as her shoulders press down against the leather at her back, chest heaving and still still shivering from the climax. A silent curse escapes her mouth, and I pull out as her walls unclench from around my fingers.

Crashing down immediately on top of her, my head slips above her shoulder, supporting myself on my knees to avoid interference with the heavy rise and fall of her chest. I try to match her breaths, chest fitted comfortably against hers as our breathing stabilizes.

 

I don’t know if I could explain why it’s taken so much out of me. I’ve done nothing.

But then, in a way, I really do know. My mind does it just like her body--overloads, like a slow pulse suddenly accelerating fast into a heart attack.

It’s the fact that we’ve come this far, that knocks me down to my knees. How being afraid to share a glance across a crowded room progressed into our strange and only slightly twisted relationship, and now this. I would almost consider it dream material, something I would have never have considered outside of my own imagination. and it does very much feel as if I’m in a dreamscape of sorts. Being able to ignore the storm we’ve caused back in the real world, all in this surreality.

These few moments, her hands running down the curve of my back, one thousand volts of energy slowly, calmly pounding through my body, like the distant thrum of bass you might hear from a concert in the distance as you lay in bed. My knees stuck to the leather seat under us, cheek lowered against hers. They are surreal. All of it. 

Surreal.

And I’m certain, there’s not a single person. No one else in this world, ever, that could do that to me like she does it. 

_Huh._

 

The howl of wind really isn’t only the opening sequence of _Asleep_ , I notice, and if I lay the side of my face against her chest, I can see the waves in the distance, and the way the grass is whipped against the ground by the gusts. Fingers twist in my hair, pulling what’s left of my braid free, and as the mess of my hair is smoothed down across my back, I let myself think about it.

How everything is being pummeled around us... thrown about by the brute force of nature, pulled from its tranquil state of effortlessness to be subjected to the pounding of iron fists. And within the solid hull of the Jag, nothing. Calm piano theme, rhythmic heartbeat against my ear. Bare skin pressed warmly against skin, not fire, or ice, but a gentle, enveloping heat.

“This is a really sad song.”

I crane my head to look up at her, and I see nothing different. Head turned towards the stretch of beach alongside us, a single blink, tranquility leveled in her slight smirk.

It is a sad song. 

_“I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore--”_ I can understand that easily enough, for sure. Nothing depressing about being a little lonely.

 _Asleep_ is pretty much about suicide.

_“Don’t feel bad for me; I want you to know; deep in the cell of my heart; I will feel so glad to go--”_

“Shouldn’t feel so relatable, right?”

“Oh, no, I think anyone can relate.” She moves under me, just slightly, and I let my head settle back against her sternum.

“You really think so?”

“It’s inevitable. Everyone reaches that point at some time in their lives--the only thing that sets some apart from others is whether or not they last through it.” There’s a pause, where she sighs and looks down at me before going on.

“It’s hard, I know, but don’t you trust that I’ll get us out of this?”

It takes a few seconds for me to even grasp her implications, and when I do, my mouth has dropped open, and I pull myself away from her to meet her gaze.

“It’s not like that…”

Her expression doesn’t change whatsoever, as her fingers twist in some of my hair absent-mindedly.

“But it was, wasn’t it? You think about giving up, but you don’t, and you end up lasting it. And trust me that there are going to be some amazing things out there for you when all the bullshit has ended.”

 

That takes me back, to a place I’m not always keen on revisiting. Someplace before she came into the picture. Just me, and them, and no room to breathe. I think it was Su who first came along to poke airholes in my metaphorical cardboard box. 

It had been taxing, to say the least.

But it’s better now. At least, enough so that I don’t have a mental breakdown when she next opens her mouth.

“I need to take you back.” It’s pronounced very tentatively, slowly, as if she’s breaking it to me that I have a terminal illness. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

This time, as I’m leaning closer, I’m already being pulled over, into one last, deep, kiss. We take all the time in the world to keep that, and I let myself become immersed in her once again--the closeness of our situation... The bare skin against skin, the shamelessness of our position...I take more than a few mental pictures when we do break off, and am almost certain I’m being watched in the same way when I lean over to pick my discarded clothes from beside us.

I could get used to this.

 

The volume is pushed up a few bars as she pulls us back onto the deserted road, the sky not yet lit up with the arrival of early morning. In fact, a glance at the dashboard shows it’s barely past three.

We don’t speak for a long time during the drive back, not that either of us really have anything more to say. I’ve personally drawn a complete blank, barely aware of her hand on mine and the last few chords of whatever was playing last on the tape.

I turn my head against the seat and watch her, eyes focused on the road ahead of us and unmoving, a smirk barely shadowing the visible side of her face. Wonder what she’s thinking about. Or if she’s thinking at all. 

A familiar chord progression catches my attention about halfway through the next song, and I snap back to reality just as the chorus comes on for the first time. I crane my neck into her view, mouth open in wonderment, and she mouths a silent “no”.

_“And if a double-decker bus crashes into us; to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die--”_

I start mouthing the words about halfway through, and her efforts to keep a blank face fail not soon after, as I lean in closer, head resting against the dashboard, trying for her attention whilst passionately lip-syncing the entirety of _There is a Light that Never Goes Out._

“There is no way you’re sober right now.”

I reach over and tap her hand with the tip of my finger, a silent urge for her to look at me, and she shoots me a feigned glare.

“I swear to God if you keep doing that I will drive us head on into a bus and we will die and there won’t be anything pleasurable about that.” In reality, she doesn’t even get through “anything” before facepalming, still focused on the freeway in front of us, and busts out laughing at my efforts.

 

The Jag comes to a halt just at the corner this time, hazy orange coloring the air, and she shuts the car off to both make us invisible to the wandering eye and to show me that she won’t be leaving immediately. I turn to say something, anything, a “thank you” maybe, for putting up with me, but I find myself cut off.

Both hands pressing against my jawline, she forces a kiss onto me that is vastly different from the few we’ve shared in the past hour. There’s passion mixed in with the normal, sweet taste of her mouth, but no drive. Or maybe a different drive, empty of desire, but to serve as a solid reminder not unlike a tight embrace. She’s still here. 

And she still loves me. 

“I think it would be your best shot to use the window on the way in.”

There’s a centimeters separation between us, her hands unmoving and staring back at me with soft, green eyes leveled with mine.

“Avoid them for these next few days, alright? Don’t do anything that could possibly invoke their anger, and they might just let this whole thing go if given enough time.”

“I know.” I hold on to her wrist, and her hand drops against mine, wrapping her fingers around my own and turning her mouth into them.

“Want to hear my proposition?”

“You know I do.”

“Last until the weekend with me.” Her breath whispers warmly over my knuckles, the air growing cold now with the car off. “Tell them you have a study group or something, that you’ll be spending the night, and I’ll pick you up after school on Friday. And I will literally take you anywhere.” The last sentence is said much slower, filling my mind with the prospect of more nights together, not having to worry about the crushing weight of problems back at the house. Blasting every mixtape I haven’t already listened to from her speakers. 

Not having to worry about being caught.

“I like this plan.”

She kisses me one more time, directly on the cheek, and I slip out, turning the corner against the familiar row of hedges.

Cars are still in the driveway, all lights off--my absence hasn’t yet been noticed. I pick my way through the yard to my window, careful not to trip in the dark over God knows what.

My fingers slide under the crack I’ve left in the window, and I force it up as far as my arms will take it. From there it’s an ungraceful kind of jump onto the windowsill and a walrus-like flop onto the floor below. I don’t even bother turning the lights on, replicating the awkward flop onto my bed and starfish, staring straight up at the ceiling.

“ _Good time to return to those mental images”_ My mind pipes up.

I roll over onto my side, stretching out and cracking all my bones satisfyingly. After the cramped passenger seat, I have to admit how nice it is. Something digs into my side painfully, and I don’t pay it any attention at first, maybe even drifting off a bit as I lay completely motionless, slumped over the foot of my bed, but I eventually bring one of my hands to the pocket of my sweater and take out a foil-wrapped cylinder.

Shock Tarts.

Returning to the starfish position on my back, I hold them up to the moonlight, dragging my thumb over the ridges of still about half the pack. I consider just putting them to the side, to conserve for later, but I remember there are probably still more out there and unroll a single piece, dropping it into my mouth from a great height, and lay there as my eyes start to water.

These are my salvation. Little slices of happiness, like finding your favorite candy you thought was discontinued, or having an exceptionally special encounter with someone you really love.

Slice? That’s half the fucking cake. But either way, I guess.

This weekend we’re going back to that gas station, and I swear to God I’m going to buy every single pack of Shock Tarts they have.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried the rip off shockers and they taste like fucking shit dont look at me i took out my grief on this
> 
> and ive also revisited the smiths also dont look at me literally every irrelevant detail in my writing is in some way a rant bout my current emotional state and what has caused it


End file.
